There Wasn't
by Clara Parlato
Summary: "There was still time in that life to make things right."


It was just a bad dream.

Keith knew that.

He knew once the morning painted the sky orange, Lance would be very much alive, very much annoying, very much _there_. He knew once he left the bed everything would be alright. Keith sighed. Nightmares are never easy to shallow, no matter how accustomed with them you may think you are.

He sat up, no point in trying to get back to sleep when his mind was running a marathon. Closing his eyes, he saw it. Too much blood, too much pain. Holding Lance's limp body close to his chest, blue eyes losing their shine second by second. Bluest blue. Closing slowly, life being drained, soul leaving. Abandoning him there, in the middle of a war, in the middle of a wrecking sob.

The boy took a shaky breath and left the bed. He wouldn't be able to sleep again. Leaving the dark room, he wandered among the seemingly endless hallways of the castle. Nothing was wrong, he told himself. Nothing was wrong. There's no need to fear.

There was.

Because they were in a war and they could die at any moment. Keith could lose his brother again, he could lose his new family. He could lose Lance. His friend. His crush. The boy with the bluest eyes and brightest smile. Keith could lose him to Death, the cruel and only certainty of all universes. Shivers ran down his spine, as if said torment decided to loom over him, ghosting its unavoidable fingertips on his back. As if it was reminding him that it was _there_. That it never left, _never would._ That it had patience to wait for one more danger, one more injury, _one more "almost"_. One more "almost" to turn into a last "certainly".

The boy froze in the middle of a random hallway, breath quickening. Tyrant, cold, vile void, born with life and never able to rest. Keith wanted to run, to scream, to bring the Blue Paladin into his arms and deny Death the access to that precious boy's soul. There was more panic running in his veins than blood. Death was already there. Lurking, ready to strike. And he was not ready. He was not. A small part of him wondered if he would ever be. No one was. No one could be.

"Keith?"

Keith turned around so quickly, it was a wonder he didn't fall with how much the world was spinning. Shiro. A relieved sound came out of the younger man's throat. His brother looked restless, bags under eyes and messy hair. In a few seconds, Keith was in Takashi's arms, tears threatening to leave. Theirs threats were no needed, the boy let them go without much fight. Strong arms circled him, trying to protect him from the uninvited guest.

"Are you okay? Keith, are you okay? What's happened?"

"Just—" a sob ripped his throat—"a nightmare."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Keith would later admit he felt a little guilty for telling Shiro his nightmare. His brother had already bad enough dreams—probably the reason he was awake that night—and certainly didn't need the mental image Keith's tale brought. But at that moment, the Red Paladin didn't think of anything. He just wanted to cry and beg for Shiro the assure him they were alive, they were well, Lance was still there and not dead in a battlefield. Shiro did exactly that, he was so convincing the boy wondered why he worried at the first place.

Of course, Lance was fine. Lance would be fine. Because Keith would be there, Keith would make sure to protect his boy; he would fight Zarkon with his bare hands if it meant Lance would stay alive.

"Tell that to him, not me." Were the parting words Takashi said before leaving Keith alone in the hallway. Shiro was going to the training grounds—the next best thing to forget a bad dream after a bottle of any alcoholic beverage, according with the Black Paladin—and, for the first time, the boy had recused the offer to train together.

He was going to check on Lance. Maybe even tell the lover boy his feelings. A hug would be very good. Some bickering. Being glared by a sleepy Cuban boy was actually somewhat funny, and the Blue Paladin looked charming when whining tiredly. A fond smile made its way in Keith's face. The thoughts about Death were shoved to the back of his mind.

Still there, but not as strong.

Death could loom over him as much as she wanted; he wasn't going to give her attention. No, instead he thought on what to say to Lance. He remembered the petty arguments that turned in friendly bickering. The supportive smiles and gentle glances. Keith may never had showed, but he was extremely glad Lance was his friend. At first, the other was annoying, but as time went, the Red Paladin could say with confidence he wouldn't be where he was without him.

Shiro was right—as he always secretly prided himself of being—, Keith should say those things to Lance. Well, maybe not say, words were not his thing, but maybe show more how important Lance was to him. It was a war, anything could happen, dying was inevitable. So he would make sure Lance died knowing his importance on Keith's life.

Finally reaching the room, Keith took a deep breath. He was not going to run away. Death was a certainty, he reminded himself, and so he only had that chance to do that. He had no patience to wait for the next life. He opened the door.

Lance's limp body hanging by the neck by a rope attached to the ceiling greeted him.


End file.
